


Anything Sam Wants

by my inner glow (misha_anon)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spnkink_meme, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Prompt Fill, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_anon/pseuds/my%20inner%20glow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Dean will do anything to help Sam sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for [this prompt](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/73050.html?thread=25360474#t25360474). Probably shortly after 6x13, when Sam started remembering his time in the cage.

Dean lies awake listening to Sam toss and turn in the other bed. He'd been overjoyed to have Sam's soul returned, so happy to _really_ have his brother back, but that certainly hadn't lasted long. This is the new normal: Sam avoiding sleep to avoid waking up soaked in sweat, terrified screams breaking into sobs when he realizes the nightmare isn't real.

The worst part, in Dean's opinion, is that Sam won't talk to him about any of the shit going on in that head of his. If there's anyone on the planet who's going to have the tiniest bit of insight into what a trip downstairs is like, it's Dean. Different circumstances, different outcomes, but Hell is Hell is Hell. Dean turns on his side and watches the lump that is his brother flip fitfully onto his stomach and sprawl out with the blanket twisted around his hips.

In the harsh glow of the neon motel sign, he keeps watch as Sam's breathing falls into a steady rhythm, muscles relaxing under his shirt as sleep finally overtakes him. Dean breathes a sigh of relief and stretches out on his back, wishing there was something he could to help. He's asked, of course, but Sam always shuts down the conversation almost before the question is out of Dean's mouth. Dean closes his eyes and crosses his hands on his chest.

He's barely asleep; just taking the first steps into the technicolor world of his own dreams when high pitched screaming drags him back to consciousness. Even as sleep-addled and disoriented as he is Dean instantly recognizes the screams as Sam. He sits bolt upright, head jerking when he catches sight of his brother locked in a deathmatch with the blanket, thrashing helplessly. The sight twists in Dean's gut like a knife and before he can think, he's stumbling out of his own bed and crossing the gap.

"Sam.. Sam.. wake up! Wake up, Sammy!"

He narrowly avoids being decked as the flailing continues, but he finally manages to get close enough to gently touch Sam's hair. It's soaking wet between Dean's fingers as he pushes it out of Sam's face.

"Shh.. shhh.. c'mon, it's okay. It's okay, I got you."

Sam's body goes limp against the bed, the blanket finally defeated and thrown off the other side. Dean keeps stroking, keeps whispering little soothes as he moves slowly closer to his brother; Sam doesn't fight, instead turning his face to Dean's touch.

"It was just a nightmare, Sammy. It's okay. Hey, I'm right here. Shhh."

He slides close enough to pull Sam against his chest, the giant of a man curled against his big brother and clinging as reality starts to settle in around him. The tears come just as Dean knew they would, silent sobs wracking Sam's body and making him hold on that much tighter. Dean strokes his hair and down his spine, murmurs reassurance, tries to ignore the burning in the bridge of his own nose. Now is not the time for that.

Sam shifts, his face buried in the curve of Dean's neck. His breath is warm and it tickles Dean's shoulder, but he tries to ignore that, too. He shivers and swallows around the lump in his throat and pulls Sam closer, still stroking up and down his back as their barely clothed bodies press together and their legs tangle. Dean wonders if Sam takes the same comfort from being so close that he does; it's how they slept when Sam was young and scared of imaginary monsters under his bed - before he knew about real ones. He hopes so.

"Wanna tell me about the dream?"

Frustration mounts, prickling up Dean's spine when Sam just shakes his head. The next words out of his mouth sound as desperate as he feels.

"What can I do? Anything you want, Sammy."

Sam's body goes still against his and for a moment he's afraid he's said the wrong thing. Again. Dean slides his hand up his brother's back and rubs circles on the back of his neck as Sam presses his tearstained face harder against Dean's neck. His breaths fall to little hiccuped sighs and Dean starts to relax.

"Anything?" Sam's voice is hoarse and Dean wonders how so much exhaustion can be packed into one word. 

He nods and holds Sam tighter when he whispers in answer, "Of course."

An almost imperceptible change in Sam's breathing accompanies another shift of his body against Dean's. He pulls his face away from Dean's neck and meets his eyes. There's an electric charge in the air, subtle but unmistakable, and Dean's chest tightens a little on each exhale.

"I just wanna be so tired I can't do anything _but_ sleep, you know?" Sam's tone is different, low and a little slurred but not tinged with sleep at all. Dean holds his breath, holds Sam's gaze, "Not think, not dream, not wake up in a cold sweat."

"How can I help?"

It's as natural as breathing when the press of Sam's weight puts Dean on his back and the push of Sam's thigh between his legs has his body's immediate interest. He draws a deep breath as Sam rocks his hips, a tentative thrust of a half-hard cock against his hip. When Sam presses his forehead to Dean's and closes his eyes, Dean lets out the breath and gives over to the moment. One hand comes to rest on the boxer-clad jut of Sam's hip; he slides the other under his brother's shirt to settle on the small of his back.

Anything Sammy wants.

It's slow and gentle at first, Sam is on his elbows and pressed forehead to forehead as they grind together with a slow press and twist of hips. Dean's cock grows harder and harder under the pressure of Sam's thigh and the friction of his own underwear against sensitive skin. His fingers tighten on Sam's hip, knead reflexively, then slide to his ass to pull him in harder. The slow grind turns to splayed legs and shared gasps and bodies seeking release of their own accord.

When Dean slides his hand up Sam's back, palm pressed between shoulder blades to hold tight, Sam whimpers and thrusts more quickly, his hardness sliding with too much fabric and not enough skin. But Dean's patient and this is what Sam wants, so he thrusts up to meet him. The collision of pelvises and hipbones is jarring and Sam's cheek slides against Dean's, hot breathy moans move around the curve of Dean's ear and send shivers down his spine.

Sam slows his pace again, breath coming in ragged gasps as he grinds harder. His skin is sweat slick under Dean's hand and their shirts cling damply together with each movement. There's a warmth spreading slow through Dean like warming whiskey and molasses and his heart is pounding in his chest and echoing in his ears as the slow drag of Sam's thigh pushes him closer and closer to the edge. Sam's hands are on his shoulders now, holding him in place.

"Sammy.." Dean's throat feels parched and raw as he slides his hand under Sam's boxers to grab at his bare ass and squeeze. Sam grunts in answer and starts to thrust faster and more erratic until they're rutting like animals, stubbled jaw against jaw and Sam's hair tickling Dean's face. When Sam pulls his knees up and changes the pressure on Dean's cock that's all she wrote.

Orgasm rips through him like a cold chill, his cock twitching against Sam's hip and spilling hot come against his skin and the inside of his underwear. He digs his fingers into Sam's back, holding on for dear life as he struggles to breathe through his own moans and the increasing weight he's pulling on to his chest. Sam's hips stutter and he sucks a hard breath and holds it, then lets it out in the middle of a string of "ah, Dean" and "oh" and "shitshitshit".

Dean floats a little outside his own body, warm and relaxed like he hasn't been in months and panting against his brother's shoulder as he wraps both arms around Sam and holds him tight. Sam's trembling and moaning softly as Dean squeezes once more then strokes up and down his back soothingly. He's content to let Sam's slowly relaxing self lie here on top of him for as long as he wants to.

"Shh, Sammy. It's all right. I got you," he whispers before he presses his face against Sam's neck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the night and the morning after. Coffee, doughnuts, and no sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this is what you wanted, but it's what came out when I started writing. (I also rarely write in the past tense, so if there are mixed tense mistakes, I apologize! I proofread it, but sometimes I miss those.)

Dean got up on shaky legs and raided the bathroom for towels when Sam finally stopped panting and decided to let him up. He tossed one to Sam and turned his back while they both slipped out of their underwear and cleaned themselves up and damned if Dean didn't suddenly feel shy. He slipped into a fresh pair of underwear and was about to climb back under the covers in his own bed when Sam's tentative voice caught him.

"Dean?"

That was all he said as he held the blanket he'd retrieved from the floor up in invitation. Given the not-unwelcome-but-still-weird weirdness of the night up to that point, it was an invitation Dean was happy to accept. He'd smiled at Sam and given a little nod before he changed his course and crawled into bed with his brother.

Relaxation came to Dean more quickly than he anticipated as Sam curled against his body again. He wrapped his arms around Sam, stroked his back, and tugged gently at the ends of his long hair. It took a few restless moments, but finally Sam found a comfortable spot with his face buried against Dean's neck and their legs tangled together. Once Sam was settled, Dean had let his hands roam up and down his brother's muscular back, fingertips seeking knots and trying to work them out.

"You 'member when we were kids? When I'd.." Sam had to stop in mid-sentence to yawn before he continued on, sleepiness edging into his voice, "I'd have bad dreams and we'd sleep like this and you'd tell me stories?"

"Mmhmm," Dean had murmured as he squeezed Sam just a little tighter, "I remember."

Sam sighed and snuggled closer into Dean's arms, sleepy soft and warm, and Dean barely heard him ask, "Will you tell me a story?"

"You're about to pass out, Sammy." Dean chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to the top of Sam's head. "Be a good boy and go to sleep. I'll tell you a story next time."

Sam grumbled a feeble protest, but inside of two minutes his breath was coming slow and warm, puffed against Dean's neck in a way that made him feel as though he could deal with everything.. even if only for the moment. When Sam started to snore softly, Dean started to rub his back again. With Sam asleep, he was able to let his guard down, though he fought off sleep.

As he lay holding Sam, a sentinel of dreams, he thought back to the stories he used to tell. Sam always wanted bigger bad guys. Big, mean, scary. Tears stung Dean's eyes when he realized that the worst things he could possibly come up with - the worst things he'd read about in dad's journal and childproofed for his brother - couldn't touch the real horrors Sam had seen.

He held on to Sam as his own tears fell, hot and sharp and of no real comfort. He'd long since lost track of how many times he'd kicked himself for dragging Sam back into this mess of a life, but this was one more time. Here in the glow of neon lights with Sam safely asleep in his arms he didn't have to be strong. He cried until he felt like he would surely throw up, then he cried a little more.

When he'd finally managed to calm himself, mostly by stroking Sam's back in soothing circles, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He started reciting AC/DC album track lists in his head, earliest to latest. When he finished with those satisfactorily, he moved on to Metallica.

***

Sleep is a funny thing. It flirts with the edge of your mind, teasing while you push it away and then the next thing you know, you're waking up. Dean doesn't remember falling asleep, though he vaguely remembers his slumber being fitful and sometimes too hot with the addition of Sam's body heat. He also doesn't remember Sam getting out of bed.

The first thing Dean notices is the smell of sweet, sweet doughnuts and hot coffee. It draws him out of his light sleep and he stretches and turns onto his back to stretch again and scratch idly at his chest. He's stiff this morning, achey from sleeping in an uncomfortable position, but there's coffee, so he's not about to complain. When he finally opens his eyes, Sam is creeping around the room.

"Did you sleep all right?" Dean's voice is rough with sleep and apparently unexpected since Sam nearly drops the cup holder full of coffee. He's wearing jeans and a hoodie and he looks more well rested than he has in a while and when he smiles, it's a real smile.

"Like a log," he replies, bringing the spoils of his doughnut shop conquest along as he perches on the edge of his bed. "Did you get much sleep?"

Dean sits up and rubs his eyes hard, they feel like they're full of grit, tired and sore from last night's crying jag. He smiles and leans back against the headboard as he takes the proffered cup of coffee. Okay, they're not going to talk about last night, that's fine. Sam will bring it up sooner or later. Dean takes a sip from the cup and nods his approval before he answers.

"Enough." The truth is that he hadn't planned on sleeping at all, but Sam gets all prissy mother hen on him when he says shit like that, so instead he smiles behind his cup and takes another drink. He'll be fine once the caffeine and sugar get into his system. When he lowers his cup, he studies Sam's face quietly. He looks better today than he has in a while. Finally, Dean asks, "How are you feeling?"

Sam smiles, the thousand-watt smile that could light up a small country, and takes a sip of his own coffee. He nods as though to himself and reaches for a doughnut. Maybe it's foolish, but Dean believes him when he answers quietly, "Good. I feel good."


End file.
